


Broken memories

by NatyCeleste



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Broken Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky and Steve reunite scene but with Bucky's POV, Bucky might be inlove with Steve, But also he might love him platonically, Confused Bucky Barnes, Diary/Journal, Gen, I knew him, Inner Dialogue, Movie scene with inner thoughts, POV Bucky Barnes, Recovered Memories, Repressed Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24834124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatyCeleste/pseuds/NatyCeleste
Summary: In the time between Winter Soldier and Civil War, Bucky fought hard to get his memories back. To help himself do it, he kept a journal of everything he could remember, using the few words HYDRA hadn’t taken away. These are some of the entries, and then Bucky’s POV on his new encounter with Captain America.OrSome entries on Bucky's memories' journal and then his thoughts on his reunion with Steve
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	Broken memories

Bucky kept a journal. A leather notebook with scribbled out pages. The short entries, often written hurriedly or in the middle of the night, were thought out specifically to help him remember, to help him hold on to the few memories he'd gotten back:

\---

 **James Buchanan Barnes.** It sounded so familiar when the man on the aircraft said it. Am I not just the asset? Did I use to have a name? Was that it? 

The man's eyes seemed even more familiar than his words. _I knew him._ Did I use to have a life? Was he a part of it? I keep hearing his words in my head over and over: “You’re my friend”. Why would he say that? 

\---

I escaped the police by about two seconds today. **NOT SAFE.** I have to get out of here, but I  won't go back  to HYDRA. The need to return is almost overwhelming. Some nights I wake up and I'm already halfway out the door. ~~I’m scared.~~ A part of me just wants to give in and face my punishment for not fulfilling my mission… But I don't want to forget. 

James Buchanan Barnes  . It _was_ my name, I remember someone yelling it at me once, but the sound is so distant I can't even guess if it's a man or a woman's voice. **_I don't want to forget. WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T GO BACK._ **

\---

Today I went to the museum. I laid low, didn't get noticed. It was a risk, but I ~~wanted~~ had to know. 

The man on the aircraft was telling the truth. _Steve._ His name is Steve. I tried it out loud. My tongue seemed comfortable saying it.  **STEVE** **.**

_Please don't let me forget his name again._

\---

I look at his picture sometimes. I took it from the gift shop in the museum. He's wearing the same suit he wore on the aircraft. The one I stained with his blood. 

I was supposed to be his friend. He saved me. The voice in the museum said I… _died_ for him. Was that my choice? I remember falling from ~~a building~~ someplace really high, his face looking at me horrified, but I can't remember anything else. I don't know if I would've willingly given my life to save his. To save him. 

The text by my picture said I was a hero. ~~Was I?~~ When did I become a monster? 

_Why me?_

\---

The trip was long. Airplanes are OK, but I hate trains. ~~Fuck trains.~~ **Remember to avoid trains** .

HYDRA's skills are finally proving useful for something other than violence. The languages they forced me to learn help me keep a low profile, to blend in. People are not as hostile as they had me believe. An old lady smiled at me today when I made a grammar mistake in her language. 

I made a mistake. _And she ~~didn't hit me~~ _**_smiled_ ** _at me._

\---

My nightmares are telling me more and more about what I've done. ~~Their~~ My missions were ruthless. _I_ was ruthless. But as much as they hurt, I can't force myself to wish for them to stop. I want to believe it wasn't me, but I know it was. I can’t forget again. I won’t forget what I’ve done. ~~I'm a murderer.~~

\---

I fell from a moving train. They got to me after I fell. The snow was ruthlessly pressed to my skin, my arm was torned, my body was broken. Steve was alone back in the train. 

\---

They wiped my memory. I remember the pain forcing its way through every single part of my body, frying my brain. They did it so many times, I can't even count how many. I remember the people around me changing every time they did it, growing older, being replaced. 

I remember the cold slipping through my veins and the feeling of not being able to breathe or stay awake. ~~I was dying.~~ I think I was frozen in time. Is that even possible?

\---

 **BUCKY.** My name's Bucky. Not James. Steve used to call me that. The memory of him saying it sounds like home. I remember how it used to calm me down whenever I was nervous or scared. I remember him saying it when he rescued me. I don't know where I was, but I know I was so sure that I was going to die. Until he called my name, and then I was saved. 

_Please don't let me forget his voice saying my name._

\---

I dreamt about Steve last night. We were playing cards, drinking beer. He started talking about his application for the army. He seemed so serious about it. My heart was in my throat. 

I couldn't figure out what he was talking about from that point on. I don't remember. Images of his body lying on the ground in a series of nameless battlefields took over and the dream became a nightmare. 

Did that conversation really happen? Did the endless torture of his broken body happen? _Why did I wake up crying?_

\---

We _were_ friends. I was his friend. I remember his eyes, red and irritated when he and his mother got the news of his dad's death. I remember I wanted to carry the empty casket with him. We were both too small to do it. Had he been with me for so long?

\---

**I had a mother** **.** Her laugh was sweet and her eyes were warm. I wish I could remember more about her. 

\---

I saw him again in my dreams last night. We were in a tent, in the middle of winter. The smell of gunpowder was still lingering in the cold air around us. He was asleep, but I was ~~staring at him~~ watching him breathe. I don't know why, but I was so glad he was alive. So _so_ glad. 

Was that a memory? 

\---

I can remember myself now. When I saw the pictures of me in the museum, it didn’t feel like it was me, but it was. I can recall seeing my reflection in the side mirror of a car. I used to wear a uniform. That flashed image invaded my brain, and I knew it was true: I was a soldier. I fought in the war, side by side with Steve. He wore his blue suit.  **Captain America** , they called him. To me he would always be **Stevie**. 

***DON’T FORGET STEVIE**

\---

I walked by a church this morning. The bells rang and I remembered being on my knees praying. ~~(Has there ever been a God for me? Has he ever listened?)~~ I asked for Stevie to get rejected by the army. Eyes closed and hands pressed firmly against each other. I _begged_. 

He couldn't die on some battlefield. He deserved _so_ much more. 

\---

 **I had siblings**. At least two. I can’t remember my father. Was he in my life at all?

\---

Today was a good day. The memories came rushing back, one after the other. My mom's stew, bike rides through the neighborhood, a small meat shop on a nearby street. The man who owned it used to give me and Steve quarters if we delivered the meat on our bikes. 

Nice man, deep voice and kind tone. He used to say I was gonna take his place in the shop someday. We joked about it, but I didn't like the blood. I  **hated** it. 

_When did I stop caring about the blood?_

\---

Steve and I went on ~~a mission~~ our last mission. I remember now. We jumped on a train and ran on it's roof. We got separated and all I wanted was for him to save himself. But he came back. He came back for me. ~~Idiot. Not worth it.~~

When he was lying on the ground by my side, and I took his shield, shooting at the man in front of me, there was only one thing going through my mind: _shoot me, not him._ **_Not him_ ** **_._ **

Now I know I would've gladly died for him. Without hesitation. A million times over, and then a few more. I still would. 

\---

Today I remembered the way he used to look at me. Like I was some kind of superhero. The look on his eyes used to make me want to be better. To be good. When did they take that away from me? 

If I have to lose myself again, if I have to give up everything else, please, **_please_** _, don't let me forget the way he used to look at me._

\---

Today I got his laughter back, and the sounds he made when he was ~~tired~~ sleepy. His way of helping me up when I drank too much, snucking under my arm as we walked back from the bar, carrying my weight as best as he could. He wouldn't let me trip. He never let me fall. 

I doubt there's even a god, but I thank whatever's out there every single day, that there was still enough of _me_ inside myself to know that I had to pull Steve from that river.

* * *

_"I have to leave"_ he thought while climbing up the stairs. He would just get his journal and his backpack and disappear again, like the last time. Like all the ones before. 

The journal was the only thing he would always bring to a new place, besides clothes and cash. Sometimes he didn't even have time to get those. Clothes could be replaced, cash could be earned, but he had gone long enough without his memories. He couldn't give them up again. 

It'd be quick. In and out. He was about to go in when he heard someone walking quietly inside. He briefly considered turning around and running, he didn't want to have to hurt people again. But the journal was still in there. If they knew he used to be close to Steve, they could blame him for some of his mistakes. Steve didn't deserve that, so he sneaked in silently, and he froze immediately. It was him. He was standing with his back to him, looking into his journal. Bucky could feel his heart suddenly pounding in his chest.

“Understood”, he said, tone steady and focused. Bucky considered leaving. What the hell was he supposed to say? He couldn't face him after everything he had done. He had tried to _kill him_. If Steve knew it was him, - _really_ him- he’d try to help, and he couldn’t have that. He didn’t deserve it. But he wasn’t fast enough, and now Steve had turned around, and was looking at him. His heart was in his throat again, making it difficult for him to breathe. “Do you know me?” his voice was soft now, warm. The memories came rushing back at the sound of it, like a trigger being pushed inside his brain. He couldn’t say he didn’t. Steve had to know he wasn’t an assassin anymore.

“You're Steve," he said, voice as steady as he could manage. “I read about you in a museum." He added the last part praying for him not to catch the lie. It wasn’t really a lie, was it? Either way, Steve looked disappointed. 

“I know you're nervous. And you have plenty of reason to be. But you're lying”. Had he come to stop him?

“I wasn't in Vienna. I don't do that anymore,” he assured, trying to let him know it was the truth. He hadn’t killed anyone since they last met. He just wanted all of that to end. 

“Well, the people who think you did are coming here now. And they're not planning on taking you alive,” Steve was so sure. Wasn’t he here to try and stop him?.

“That's smart. Good strategy."

There were loud steps on the roof, and he sighed. Why couldn’t he just get away? _Why?_ He thought, swallowing hard and preparing himself for it. He could do it. He was in control. “This doesn't have end in a fight, Buck." His tone was so calming. Like it was coming all the way from a different life. From a lost life. But he was lying, they were right outside the door.

“It always ends in a fight," he replied. He was so tired. So _so_ tired. 

Steve raised his voice “You pulled me from the river. Why?” he demanded.

“I don't know," he said simply. What else could he say?

“Yes, you do."

Yes. He did. 


End file.
